Killing's Just A Game

By the time I leave the cafe and return to my apartment, my head feels as if it is about to explode. The guys bombarded me with information about the upcoming tour that I'll be joining them on. Apparently, it is called Warped Tour, and I only have tonight and tomorrow to prepare. We'll be leaving at 5:00 AM in two days time. How freaking fantastic is that?

I slam my apartment door and run into my room to begin packing. If I were a normal PR agent, this would be easy. All I would need is a laptop and enough clothing to survive in between showers. But no, it can't be that simple. I have less than 36 hours to smuggle all of my regular equipment into the hidden pouches of my luggage, not to mention pack all of my normal necessities. This has got to be impossible.

In the midst of my packing, I make a desperate call to Paul.

"What?" he snaps in an agitated voice.

"Well aren't you just a ray of fucking sunshine?" I joke, as he always does to me.

"Yeah. Sorry, Mel. Late night," he replies, relaxing his tone.

"Well don't take it out on me," I grumble. "Look, I'll be brief. All I want to do is update you on my current case."

"Okay, then. Give me a quick status report," Paul says shortly.

"I've infiltrated their group and I'm going on tour with the band as their PR agent. Of course, I assumed you would cover me and act as the boss at my firm," I pause while he agrees. "I'll be on tour with them for two months, so that should give me plenty of opportunities to get to know the target and surroundings better. Then, I will figure out the perfect way to complete my task and clear my name."

"Sounds like a plan, Kiddo," Paul praises. "Just don't go soft on me."

A faint rush of panic overtakes me. I'd never go soft, never. Paul has got to be out of his mind to even suggest something like that.

"No problem," I reply, managing a quick chuckle. Paul says good luck, I say goodbye, and we hang up.

I thought the call with Paul would reassure me, give me a feeling of guidance and purpose. Though all it did was scare the living shit out of me. My gut twisted as I thought of not fulfilling my appointed task.

I can kill him, right? I've killed so many before without a second thought to the action.

I subconsciously picture him in my mind. The fear that would cross his face, the look of hurt and betrayal, the way he would slump to the ground. The corners of my eyes begin to sting and I shake the images from my imagination. I sit down on my bed and place my head in my hands, taking in oxygen in deep breaths.

"Toughen up, Mel," I instruct, "He's just another assignment."

Or is he?